I wanted nothing more than to sit down and start writing out a response, but I forced myself to wait. In here, I had nothing but time, and I couldn’t let anyone else notice how eager I was to send a fucking letter.
Allowing anyone to gain leverage over me was simply not an option.
I carefully tucked the letter into my pocket, exactly like I had done with the last ones, and stood up.
Time to head back to reality.
March 27th
Adelaide,
Provisional arrangements don’t come with warranties. They come with consequences. But we’ll cross that bridge if we get there.
Your carnival story is impressive for the wrong reasons. Forty-seven minutes is a long time to break something without meaning to. Most people would have panicked. You … didn’t. That’s either bravery or spectacular ignorance. Either way, it’s memorable.
The fact that you stopped to apologize to a man dressed as a pickle is what tells me more than the blackout itself.How much of what you do is choice, and how much is momentum?
Minor chaos has its place, just as careful planning does. Are you always this honest, or only when you don’t expect it to matter?
You're not 'alarmed' because I’m not interested in frightening you. That tends to come later.
I guess I’ll be expecting another letter soon.
— Sasha
Chapter 7
Addy
Boomerwasdraggingmethrough the park again. Despite my misgivings about his success in dragging me through the dirt a while back, he hadn’t succeeded — yet.
Sasha’s letter was burning a hole in my pocket.
I’d read and reread it countless times already. At this point, I almost knew it by heart. What was it about this, about him, that was so intoxicating? Was it the excitement? The sense of danger?
I snorted. Danger. Right. There was literally no chance I’d ever get close enough to Sasha to be in any danger. Not to mention, if I did, there would probably be a pane of Plexiglas between us.
Not like I’d ever visit him or anything. The prison where he was held was a seven hour drive from where I lived … and I only looked it up out of curiosity. Not for any other reason.
Kind of rich of him to talk about ‘consequences’. An amused scoff escaped my lips, making Boomer lift his nose from the ground to peer up at me. He’d recently been to the groomer, and he looked ridiculous — more like a ferret than a dog.
Provisional arrangements don’t come with warranties. They come with consequences.
I repeated the words mockingly in my head in a deeper voice, since I had no idea what he sounded like. He sounded so melodramatic. Then again, consequences probably entailed something more serious in his world than in mine.
In my normal and completely ordinary reality, consequences were kind of my thing. My whole life seemed to be one big-ass, inconvenient consequence after another.
The fact that you stopped to apologize to a man dressed as a pickle…
Why did he focus on that? My insides twisted uncomfortably. Out of everything he could have taken note of, he chose this. For some reason, he seemed to be able to look right through me, which made no fucking sense at all.
No one had ever noticed this particular aspect of my disasters before. Usually, people simply laughed at themesses I made, but they never paid attention to the aftermath. To the choices I made after I’d fucked up.
The fact that you stopped to apologize to a man dressed as a pickle…
Sasha had noticed, though. He noticed that despite leaving chaos in my wake, I controlled what I could and always took responsibility for my actions. I wasn’t sure what to make of him noticing this little detail.
If he’d noticed this, what else had he noticed amidst the pages upon pages of word vomit I’d sent him?